


Alterations of Mind and Body

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus doesn't want his lover to be anything other than herself. Except when he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alterations of Mind and Body

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Lusty Month of May Marathon 2007. Set after HBP.

He has every man's dream right at his fingertips. She lies before him in his bed, barely clothed in only his bed covers. She can become anyone… anything. People would kill for less than to be exactly where he is, hovering above her.

But he can't ask her to be anything other than exactly who and what she is. For one thing, she would probably kill him for being a complete jerk. Or she'd be hurt, which would somehow be worse. He doesn't want to hurt her. He loves her, in his way.

She's everything he ever could have wanted in a woman, and so much more. And yet, he's still not satisfied.

It's not any _woman_ that he really wants, after all.

She's a reminder of everything that he can't have. In the same moment he both loves and hates her for that.

He wishes that she would change her nose just so, let her hair blend into black rather than its usual – unusual, actually – bright pink, purple, green, blue, whatever. Maybe add a wrinkle here or there, for authenticity. Her eye colour is already perfect, for that's one of the few things she rarely changes. Her natural skin colour is hereditary, and is one of the few things the Black family ever gave her, other than their hatred.

Most importantly, he wishes she would flatten her breasts into the vaguest outlines of pectoral muscles, barely defined, and that she would change her genitalia to something more… well, masculine.

But he never asks for any of this. He doesn't suggest that they role-play and then laughingly protest that he wasn't serious when she looks confused by or dejected at his suggestions. He doesn't ever answer her when she asks in an offhand sort of why what feature she should change that day.

He knows that once he starts proposing alterations to her appearance, he won't be able to stop. It'll be the hair colour one day, and then the hair length, and then maybe her jaw definition. Before he knows it he'll ask to see what she looks like with stubble, and she'll think he's teasing and give it a try for a laugh – like she tries out stupid noses just because she can – but then she'll notice the yearning look on his face.

He can't do that to her. He can't pretend she's something that she's not, just because she of all people _could_ be. She deserves better than that.

She deserves better than _him_. He tried to tell her that at the beginning. He should have tried harder.

So he smiles at her and lowers himself down onto the bed. He asks her to turn over onto her stomach before moving to cover her. It's easier that way to not be surprised by the way her breasts rub against him as he makes love to her. It's not so obvious when he closes his eyes that she's not precisely what he's come to expect of the other occupant of the bed.

And sometimes, after he's made her come at least once already, she allows him to gather her juices and lubricate her other passage. And that, for Remus, is just short of perfection.

He doesn't necessarily want to pretend that she's someone else, but he comes much faster and harder when he does. And he pleases her much better, which means that she probably won't ask him to apply his mouth to her slit after he's achieved his own orgasm. He doesn't like doing that (there’s no way to pretend even slightly in that case), but he doesn't know how to tell her as much.

He tells himself that he won't tell her any part of the truth for letting it all slip. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

She's happy. So is he; as much as he can be, at least.

So what does it matter that he wishes to feel the hot slide of a cock other than his own in his hand rather than the slick almost-flatness of feminine folds against his fingertips? What does it matter that he doesn't dream of her? No man really fantasises about the person he's actually with.

Except that he did, once upon a time. He never wanted anyone else back then.

And though he tries to tell himself otherwise, it does matter that he's keeping these secrets from his lover. Especially when he has to force himself not to say her cousin's name as he comes.

~FIN~


End file.
